April 29, 1980, was a routine day at the federal court house. I was at my desk, absorbed in a legal brief. Suddenly, without knocking, my secretary rushed into my office. Just as I looked up she shouted, “Muskie’s going to be secretary of state. He’s leaving the Senate.” I was startled, as were most Mainers. Well into his fourth term, Muskie had recovered from his loss in the presidential campaign of 1972 to win reelection in 1976 and regain his influence in the Senate. The later years of Jimmy Carter’s presidency were dominated by the Iranian hostage crisis. Over the objections of his secretary of state, Cyrus Vance, the president had ordered a military rescue mission, which failed. In protest, and for other reasons, Vance resigned. It was easy to understand why President Carter would want Muskie to replace Vance. It was more difficult to understand why Muskie would accept, since the election, in which Carter faced a difficult contest, was just six months away.
In the few days between the announcement of Muskie’s departure and the appointment of his successor, the subject dominated the news in Maine. The decision was to be made by the governor, Joe Brennan. He had recovered from his primary election loss in 1974 to win both the nomination and the general election in 1978. There was a great deal of speculation about the many potential candidates. Two men led the list of prospects: Ken Curtis had served two terms as governor, then as chairman of the Democratic National Committee and as ambassador to Canada; Bill Hathaway had served in the House of Representatives and then one term in the U.S. Senate. Ken and I were especially close. I was chairman of the Maine Democratic Party when he was elected governor in 1966, and I was actively involved in his campaign and helped draft his inaugural address. Four years later I was involved in his campaign for reelection; Jim Erwin was the Republican candidate, and it was an extremely tight race, which had to be decided in a recount, for which I was one of the lawyers who represented Curtis.
There were several other qualified candidates to fill the vacancy left by Muskie. My name was rarely mentioned. Just six months earlier I had been appointed to the federal court, a lifetime position. Everyone, including me, assumed that I would serve in that position for the rest of my working life. By early May, just a few days after Muskie’s announcement, word seeped from the governor’s office that he was nearing a decision, and the expectation grew that he would make an announcement early the following week.
That weekend I was at my home in South Portland when the phone rang. “George, it’s Shep Lee.”
Ed Muskie had broken the Republican dominance in Maine, but he hadn’t done it alone. A small group of young men and women had worked with him to organize and execute what was a political upheaval. Frank Coffin, then the chairman of the Maine Democratic Party, was Muskie’s principal accomplice. He went on to serve in the U.S. House of Representatives, as director of the U.S. Agency for International Development, and as chief justice of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the First Circuit. One of Coffin’s close friends was Shepard Lee, a political activist and brilliant businessman who built what became the largest automobile dealership in Maine. Much later in life Shep achieved the rare distinction of serving simultaneously as a director of the National Association of Automobile Dealers and of the American Civil Liberties Union. I met him shortly after I joined Muskie’s staff in 1962. We became and remained good friends until his death in 2011.
“Hi, Shep. What’s up?”
“I’m calling about the Senate seat.”
“What about it? Have you already got the inside scoop?” Shep knew everybody in Maine Democratic politics. I guessed that he had somehow found out who the governor was going to name and was calling to tell me. I was surprised by his answer.
“No. Joe hasn’t made up his mind yet. He wants to know if you’ve thought about it.”
I sat upright. “You talked to him?”
He dodged the question. “I’m telling you he wants to know if you’ve thought about it.”
I had thought about it, of course. But I had quickly dismissed it for the obvious reasons: I’d been appointed a federal judge just six months earlier and I was widely considered to be a political loser. “Well, yes, I have thought about it.”
“Are you interested?”
“Well, I don’t know, I’m not sure. I just assumed that he’d appoint Ken.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know all the background, but I’ve heard it’s not going to be Ken.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“You should do it, George. You know the Senate, you know the issues, you can handle it.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure.” I repeated myself, fumbling for time, trying to think of what to say or do. It wasn’t the last time I would find myself in this position. I wanted it, but I wasn’t sure if I should try for it. I loved being a federal judge. It was a safe, secure, meaningful position, and I knew I could do it well. But the Senate! And Ed Muskie’s seat! What an honor. What a challenge. I’d have to talk to Sally. She certainly would have concerns and most likely would prefer that I not accept, though, despite reservations, she had gone along with my earlier political efforts. I also feared another failure. I was vaguely aware of the dismal record of appointed senators. Most didn’t seek election to a full term or were defeated if they did; very few went on to successful careers in the Senate. Both of Maine’s members of the House of Representatives were popular Republicans; either would be heavily favored to beat me in the next election. I had lost once in a statewide election. What reason was there to believe that I wouldn’t lose again? My mind raced with uncertainty.
“Why don’t you think about it, George, then call me back? But there’s not much time. He’s going to make a decision soon and announce it next week. I think you should do this. Let me tell him that you’re interested.”
When Sally returned home later that afternoon, I told her about the call. As I had anticipated, she preferred that I not consider the Senate. Although there were other stresses in our marriage, unrelated to politics, we had a life that overall was good and comfortable. But, as had happened before, she said she’d go along with it if that’s what I wanted. She was insistent, however, that no matter what happened, she would not move to Washington. She had been there once, and she didn’t like it. In addition Andrea was about to turn fifteen and was in her first year of high school. So we agreed that if I was appointed they would stay in South Portland and I would commute to Washington.
That evening I called Shep. I wasn’t sure this was a serious inquiry. I didn’t know (and never will) who, if anyone, in the governor’s office Shep had talked to, or whether this was his own initiative. But in the end, all of the uncertainty and all of the obstacles were outweighed by the opportunity. In life risk is unavoidable. I told Shep to let the governor know I was interested.
Word spread quickly. Within twenty-four hours I received calls from two friends who urged me not to get involved. One thought he was being considered and said candidly that he’d have a better chance if I was out of the picture. Our discussion was friendly, with a lot of good-natured banter. The other caller said he’d heard I was going to be chosen because Muskie had “forced” me on Brennan. I told him that anyone who believed that didn’t know the governor. I knew Joe Brennan well, and of one thing I was absolutely certain: he would make up his own mind. While he would seek and listen to advice, in the end it would be his choice, for his reasons.
Then the governor called. I had known him for nearly twenty years. I had worked for him in the District Attorney’s Office, and we had run against each other in a primary election. The conversation was brief and cordial. He wanted to talk to me about the Senate. We agreed to meet and did so soon afterward. He was direct and to the point. He said he would appoint me to the Senate for one reason, and one reason only: “I think you can do the best job for the people of Maine.” He passed on to me the request from Muskie that I keep on as many members of his staff as possible. He then paused, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “I have only one request of you.” I braced myself. I had no idea what he might want from me. “What is it?” He replied, speaking slowly to give emphasis to his words. “I ask only that you do the best you can for the people of Maine and the nation based on your conscience and your best judgment. I will never ask you for anything else.” And he never did. Not once, ever, did he ask or suggest or hint that I vote a certain way, act a certain way, or speak a certain way. I left that meeting confirmed in my belief in his integrity. My conscience and my best judgment! I was impressed by what he asked for and relieved that he hadn’t asked for anything else. I also left with a deep determination to succeed, for him as well as for myself. I was keenly aware that he was taking an enormous political risk in appointing me. The governor would be up for reelection in two years and right there at the top of the ticket with him would be his appointee to the Senate, seeking election to a full term in his own right. The governor’s own reelection could be affected by my performance. I was determined not to let him down.
It was widely reported, and even more widely assumed, that Senator Muskie had urged Governor Brennan to appoint me to the Senate. There were obvious reasons for that. I had served on Muskie’s Senate staff and had taken leaves of absence from my law firm to work on his campaigns for vice president and president. He had helped me to become U.S. attorney and then U.S. District Court judge. We had a very close and warm relationship. But the reports and the assumptions were wrong. Muskie had urged Brennan to appoint Ken Curtis, and he would have been justified in feeling that he had done more than enough for me. But he had other reasons, consistent with his lifelong practice of always trying to do the right thing. I was a federal judge. Curtis was not then holding any public office. By any reasonable standard Curtis appeared to be a much stronger candidate than I. And on the most important issue of all, Curtis had served as governor for eight years and before that as secretary of state of Maine; he could be expected to more quickly adjust to the demands of the Senate than I and more effectively represent the people of Maine. Muskie genuinely and rationally believed that Curtis was the best choice for the position. Had Brennan agreed, his decision would have been widely accepted and applauded. But while deeply respectful of Muskie, Brennan, as always, made his own decision. Unlike Muskie, who knew me only as a member of his staff, Brennan had seen me close up as a candidate in a political campaign. As a result he saw something that few others did: the possibility that the widespread view of me as a political loser might not be correct, that I might be able to do a good job as a senator and be an effective candidate for election to a full term.